


that jacket is very important to you, i'm sure

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: the wrong leather jacket [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa calls Iris, looking to get her jacket back, and Iris suggests dinner. Turns out they get along just as well when they aren't drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that jacket is very important to you, i'm sure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragdragdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragdragdragon/gifts).



> "write a ficlet about lisa returning iris's jacket" jamie says
> 
> "how about 1500 words and no one's jacket being returned" i have apparently responded

Iris’s phone rings as she’s walking out the door after lunch with Joe- who definitely knew his daughter had got some the night before, but also definitely didn’t want to discuss it- and she feels a surge of nerves when she sees the Central area code. She scrunches her nose, bites her lip, and swipes to answer as she releases her lip once more.

 

“This is Iris West, could I ask who’s calling?” she says, tries to sound less frazzled and hungover than she actually is.

 

“Mmmmm, so your last name is West?” Lisa says, and Iris can almost see the smirk, the eyebrow raise that goes along with the question. Can almost see the way the sheets are tangled around Lisa’s legs, one hand holding them against her chest as she’s stretched out on her stomach, sideways on the bed, can picture the sun tanned line of her shoulders, the scar slashing over her collarbone–

 

Iris drags her attention back to the conversation, cheeks heating, and stutters out, “Aha, yes, well–”

 

“Relax, Carnation, it’s not like I gave you _mine_ ,” Lisa drawls. There’s a rustle, and Lisa’s voice is drier than the martinis Iris had been downing the night before when she adds, “Don’t think I gave you my jacket, either, but at least you left me yours in the meantime.”

 

Iris buries her face in her hand and leans back against the side of the building, out of the flow of people on the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry, Lisa, I grabbed it on accident. I woke up later than I meant to and was rushing out. I, ah, may also have stolen some pants and a tank top.”

 

“Keep them.” Lisa yawns. “I only care about the jacket.”

 

“Belong to your boyfriend?” Iris teases, sliding one hand into the pocket. The jacket is huge on her, bigger even than she would expect–she’s really not sure how she mistook it for her own, or how it took her so long to notice something was wrong.

 

“Stole it from my brother, actually; if I don’t keep it pristine I can’t keep claiming that my other one begged me to rescue its cousin from his abuse.”

 

“So you want it back,” Iris says.

 

Lisa hums, the sound a little dark, a little amused. Iris takes it as agreement.

 

“And I’d like my jacket back–the dress, too, but the jacket was more expensive.”

 

Lisa hums again. She’s even more amused, this time.

 

“So…” Iris rolls the word around on her tongue, imagines Lisa having flipped onto her back, smirking up at the ceiling, the phone held loosely against her ear, her hair spread, thick and golden, around her.

 

“Dinner?” Iris asks, bites her lip. A red car zips past, and a passing woman’s afro bounces in time to the pop music Iris can hear blasting in her headphones.

 

There’s an audible grin on Lisa’s lips when she answers, “Nine o’clock?”

 

***

 

Lisa strolls into the restaurant at nine on the dot–Iris, however, had showed up fifteen minutes early, nerves making her heart pound and her fingers shake as she waited for their table to be ready. (It’s different, outside of the club, without a drink in her hand, sans the envelope of music and sweat.)

 

Lisa looks, in Iris’s fervent opinion, like a goddess come to earth. Her hair shines in perfect waves and her dress, a forest green that could have been stolen straight from Oliver Queen’s wardrobe, hugs her swaying hips in a perfectly sinful way. The smoulder in her eyes when she spots Iris, though, says that the thoughts in her own mind are of a similar nature.

 

“Evening, sweetcheeks,” she purrs, leans down to press a kiss against Iris’s cheek. The waiter, with impeccable timing, arrives just after she does.

 

“Your table is this way,” he says, polite, and Lisa slides her arm through Iris’s.

 

“You look incredible,” she murmurs, lips against Iris’s ear in an echo of the night before.

 

“Same to you,” Iris returns, lets her lips brush Lisa’s cheek as she turns her head. (Lisa smiles, self-satisfied, and Iris’s hands have stopped shaking. This is familiar. Fun.)

 

(And she can’t help but notice that neither of them have brought the other’s jacket.)

 

The restaurant is Italian, just shy of being a hole in the wall, with low lighting and candles on the tables, and Lisa’s foot brushes against Iris’s when they’re both seated. Iris rolls her lips, feels the crinkle of a smile in the corners of her eyes as Lisa makes casual small talk with the waiter in broken Italian–they’ll go to a French restaurant, next time, and Iris will show off everything she picked up on that semester abroad.

 

“Just water, for me,” Lisa finally says, and glances over at Iris with a question in her eyes. “Unless the lady would like wine?”

 

“Lemonade,” Iris says, shaking her head.

 

“We only have the pink kind,” the waiter says with a tone of apology, but Iris just beams.

 

“Perfect,” she tells him cheerily, flips open her menu, and Lisa casually moves a hand in front of her mouth as she tries not to laugh.

 

The waiter nods, a smile tugging at his own lips, and tells them, “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” before slipping away from their table.

 

They sit in comfortable silence, studying their menus in between sneaking glances at each other. (Their eyes meet, sometime when Iris means to be perusing the pasta section, and Lisa smiles before flicking her gaze back down to her menu.)

 

“We should coordinate our ordering,” Iris says after the waiter’s brought their drinks (to a chorus of soft thank you’s) and slipped back off. Lisa looks up, tilts her head slightly in question, and Iris elaborates, “We should agree on what to order, so we get two different meals that we both enjoy and can share.”

 

“Smart,” Lisa comments, grinning. “Come up with that all on your own?”

 

“Learned it from my dad; it’s what my family and I always do when we go out to eat,” Iris tells her, laughs. “I was thinking fettucine alfredo, if you like the sound of that.”

 

“Mm, a classic.” Lisa spins her menu to face Iris, tapping one finger on the laminated surface. “Risotto alla milanese?”

 

Iris beams, flips her menu closed. “Perfect.”

 

“Yeah.” Lisa smirks, leans back slightly in her chair as her gaze flicks over Iris. “I’d agree.”

 

***

 

Lisa’s arm curls around Iris’s shoulders as they exit the restaurant, both of them leaning into the other for body heat–it’s not quite summer, not quite fall, and with sunset came a bite to the air.

 

And neither of them brought jackets.

 

“My thought,” Iris confides, “was that if I didn’t bring your jacket to you, you’d have to come back to my place.”

 

Lisa buries her nose in Iris’s hair, huffs out a laugh. “My thought,” she admits, “was that if I didn’t return your jacket, you’d have to see me again.”

 

“I have your number and I know where you live,” Iris tells her, amused. “You aren’t getting rid of me for a while yet.” She bites her lip, glances at a street sign. “Speaking of…”

 

“The restaurant I had you come to is only a few blocks from my place?” Lisa asks, utterly unabashed. “And we seem to be heading in that direction?”

 

Iris runs her hand over Lisa’s hip, smirking. “Uh huh.”

 

“Well, I do need to get your jacket back to you, Ms. West,” Lisa purrs, drags Iris out of the center of the sidewalk to coral her against the building–she can feel the brick catching at her dress, feel the pattern of the grout and the stones, hyperaware of every sensation as Lisa presses firmly against her. The woman is a wall of heat and muscle and she leans in, dark red lips twisting into a smirk as she murmurs, “That jacket is very important to you, I’m sure.”

 

“Very,” Iris breathes, her hands on Lisa’s hips, Lisa’s arms bracketing her on either side. Lisa’s leaning in, one leg pressing in between Iris’s thighs, and Iris’s breath catches in her throat as her eyes flutter shut–

 

And then there’s the _unmistakeable_ sound of the Flash zipping past, and they both freeze.

 

Iris’s thoughts race as she wonders what Barry’s up to, feels paralyzed with fear that something’s happening, that Zoom has reappeared, and–

 

Lisa steps away.

 

Iris’s hands fall to her sides as Lisa retreats, eyes narrowed to stare after Central City’s resident speedster–not that she can see anything, Barry’s red form already disappeared into the distance.

 

“Keeping our streets safe, I’m sure,” she says, and Iris forces a slightly anxious laugh and agrees, falls into step next to her when Lisa begins walking once more. (Opens her purse just enough to make sure the little light isn’t flashing, breathes an internal sigh of relief. Whatever Barry’s up to, it’s routine.)

 

“Think he saw us, all over each other like teenagers?” she teases, slipping her arm around Lisa’s waist, and Lisa snickers.

 

“God, I hope not. We’re both thieves, at the moment, or hadn’t you noticed?”

 


End file.
